Come, mete me out my loneliness, O wind, For I would know How far the living who must stay behind Are from the dead who go. Eternal Passer-by, I feel there is In thee a Stir, A Strength to span the yawning distances From her gravestone to her. Down to me quickly, down! I am such dust, Baked, pressed together; let my flesh be fanned With thy fresh breath: come from thy reedy land Voiceful with birds; divert me, for Ilust. To break, to crumble - prick with pores this crust And fall apart delicious, loosening sand. Oh, joy, I feel thy breath, I feel thy hand That searches for my heart, and trembles just Where once it beat. How light thy touch, thy frame! Surely thou perchest on the summer trees. . . . And the garden that we loved? Soul, take thine ease, I am content, so thou enjoy the same Sweet terraces and founts, content, for thee, To burn inthis immense torpidity. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...FUZZY-WUZZY' (SOUDAN EXPEDITIONARY FORCE) by RUDYARD KIPLING TO A PINE TREE by JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL THE FLIGHT OF LOVE by PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY THE GUERDON by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH A FRESHET by ANTIPHILUS OF BYZANTIUM AUTUMN; WRITTEN IN THE GROUNDS OF MARTIN COLE, ESQ. by BERNARD BARTON FOUR SONGS BY WAY OF CHORUS TO A PLAY: 3. SEPARATION OF LOVERS by THOMAS CAREW |